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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861526">Icarus Fell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/h3l10s/pseuds/h3l10s'>h3l10s</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i’m upset with canon (dream smp) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Author is a Wilbur Soot Apologist, Emotional Hurt, Explosions, Gen, Hurt/No Comfort, Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), I’m failing spanish and writing this instead of upping my grades, Not RPF, Other, Phil Watson Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Physical hurt, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot is not a good man, Wilbur is Phil’s son, Wilbur is dead, all Hurt baby, no beta we die like men, the fall of lmanburg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:48:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/h3l10s/pseuds/h3l10s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His death was poetic, elegiac.</p><p>And Author thinks we should talk about it more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i’m upset with canon (dream smp) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Icarus Fell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I genuinely cannot force the way I write to be like this for more than a oneshot but I’m incredibly proud of this piece. </p><p>Wilbur’s death is something that is skimmed over and not acknowledged enough for how absolutely poetic and breath taking it was, and I can go into such vivid detail of how much angst and unforgiven hurt it caused me. </p><p>Hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His death was poetic, elegiac. Anticipated but surprising nonetheless; the world blowing up around him, a crater of what had been his country behind, profound and all too large for a man so small in the end scheme of things. </p><p>When inky black wings, soft and luxurious in their feeling, had wrapped around him -- protecting him from something he didn’t want to be protected from -- Wilbur had snapped back into the true reality of his actions, no longer under the siren song of utter and total chaos and destruction. Poetic in the fall of L’manburg, but terrifying in the eyes of his beholders. </p><p>He could imagine the look on Tommy’s face; beautiful anguish and a betrayal long coming, screaming for his older brother to stop the madness that is the explosion; the cruelly prepossessing destruction of his own creation, by his own hand. </p><p>Wilbur could momentarily see the look on his father’s face, fumbling to reassemble himself in the face of his lost son, eyes set on his son’s. Fear, and hurt, and a certain grievance only Phil could manage peering on his face, disappointment riddled in. Wilbur couldn’t help but wonder, would he have been proud, had he stayed the entire time? </p><p>The sound of withers made Wilbur stop, his head turning over his shoulder to witness the bewitching creatures move around, no one set person in their mind to destroy -- the men of L’manburg, the men of the Esempi, all fighting two creatures from a word not akin to their own. Wilbur let his eyes rest, his hands closing in around himself, despairing sobs escaping him and wracking his form, despondent wails shaking the ground around them. </p><p>He’d played Icarus -- his wax and feather wings had melted under the sunlight that was his own madness, his own corrupted mind, and he’d finally fallen. There was no one who could catch him in time, for most couldn’t even recognize he was plummeting from the heaven-sent skies, down to the human-crowned earth. </p><p>They say Icarus was in pain as he fell; that his melted wax wings burned his skin, and the air whipped his body, and they were right. The fall hurt, but Icarus welcomed the pain with open arms -- the idea of living without the ability to fly; to soar far above the heavens, bothered him in a way he couldn’t imagine. Wilbur collapsed in on himself, falling to his knees, the rubble digging into the skin and creating a dull pain that made him wince as he clung to his father’s robes. </p><p>“Phil, kill me!” He cried, tugging at Phil’s garments, “Kill me, Phil, please!” Wilbur’s eyes snapped shut, his heart unable to take the tugging at it’s strings from the expression on his poor father’s face -- the father who had tried his best early in, but lost motivation to care for a son who was losing it. Wilbur put his forehead against Phil’s stomach, leaning against his father. </p><p>“I can’t --,” Phil’s heartache played through into his voice, “You’re my son! Please, Wilbur, don’t make me!” Phil knew how it would all end. Being an immortal, he’d lived through many lives -- many centuries of beings, men who wanted to be better, wanted to play amongst the Gods’ given lands, and lost themselves in the madness of an attempt at ascension. </p><p>“Look at them!” Wilbur screamed, his voice hoarse, “They want you to do it! Do it, Phil! Kill me!” Wilbur stood dropping his sword from his hilt into Phil’s hand, his hands raising to Phil’s collar, shaking the man into sense. </p><p>Phil pulled Wilbur into a hug, and Wilbur was stunned into a silence, before the restfully sharp and sudden pain of a longsword in his waist. Icarus clung to the clothes of his father, sudden consternation of dying hitting him, his fingers digging into his father’s robe. He didn’t want to leave, he wasn’t ready -- but his actions were heinous, chaotic, but there was a certain nobility to go out with your own creation. </p><p>“My son,” Phil had murmured into his hair, holding his as slumped down, his gaze filling with light as he watched Phil, murmuring courage to his son, “Let go, my son. Your mother will welcome you with open arms, I promise.” </p><p>Wilbur’s eyes flickered shut, the world closing in around him. He smiled to himself, the rest of his strength being given to utter a simple, “It’s over.” </p><p>And so it was.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked this, please let me know if a comment :) i’d like to write more things pertaining to Wilbur &amp; the intricacies of his character. </p><p>Yell at me on twt @h3li0sc3ntric</p></blockquote></div></div>
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